


Today is the day

by counteragent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: sharp_teeth, Gen, Horror, Implied Future Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counteragent/pseuds/counteragent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wan’ gosee Impala.”  (Dean is two years old)<br/>Please note that this was written for sharp_teeth, a horror community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today is the day

“I wan’ gosee Impala.” 

“Not now, Dean, sorry.” Mary wrestled the pot roast pan into the sink. Half the sauce had fossilized on the sides, trapping bits of meat like flies in amber. 

“Impala?”

“Mommy’s washing the dishes, baby.” The pan refused to fit, protruding from the soapy water regardless of the angle she tried. 

“Go see the Impala and a Mommy?” 

“Sweetie, Mommy has to finish this first.” She'd have better luck scrubbing the inside of a cave. Hmm, a knife would help. Too bad she’d gotten rid of big ones.

“Daddy will be home soon and he’ll take you. Won’t that be fun? You like sitting in Daddy’s lap.” Thanks to John, Dean could say Impala before he’d mastered any 2-syllable words. They had repeated it over and over to each other one afternoon, both grinning like it was Christmas in spring. 

Mary jerked the pan around and was punished with a splash of gritty water. “Shit!" Then, "Mommy didn’t say that!” 

The iron from the pan lent the water the acrid smell of blood. Mary snatched a dishtowel and started mopping up the spill.

“Wanna-wanna-wanna gosee Im.pa.la.” At least he wasn’t repeating her cussing. 

“I told you, baby, Daddy will take you. Maybe he’ll help you honk the horn. That will be great, right?” 

Mary tried to push her hair behind her ears without using her slimy gloves but failed. The soaked towel just swirled the liquid around; she was going to have to get a fresh one from the laundry. That she hadn’t done yet. Damn. She just needed a solid hour to---

“Dean?” Silence. Mary’s head snapped up to scan an empty room. Adrenaline sang through her veins.

“Dean?” The gloves were shed skin, one, two, as she dashed up the stairs toward Dean’s room. Three seconds. Three seconds and he was gone. Dean was so quick. He could be jumping on the bed, a broken neck seconds away. He could be filling up the bathtub again. He could find the furnace, find the gun. Today could be the day.

Upstairs, Mary skidded to a halt, swinging around a hallway corner. She'd heard a car door slam. The kind of airlock-heavy door that could take off a toddler’s arm.

“Dean!” The stairs were a slide beneath her feet. Her hands clapped against the solid wooden door as she crashed through it and into the yard. 

The car gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, presiding over a quiet street. The trees were still, leaves heavy with a full summer’s growth. Not even a breeze disturbed the peace. Mary’s feet and pulse had already started to slow of their own accord before her brain caught up. All was well. All was well.

Dean was in the Impala, thank god, with all his limbs attached. His face caught and held the slanting light, his hair and hands outlined in gold. He was clapping and laughing, face lit up with childish delight. Mary thought angel before she could stop herself. She hurried forward to join Dean. What had been so goddamn important about the dishwashing anyway? They could spend the whole afternoon in the car if Dean wanted. Turn on the radio, drive without driving. They could—

Mary jiggled the handle. “Honey, unlock the door. Just like we practiced. Mommy can’t get in when it’s locked.”

Dean’s eyes were focused on the car’s radio, like it was filling the space with music instead of silence. He faced toward the windshield, rocking back and forth on his bent knees like a windup toy, singing to himself. Mary couldn’t hear him. 

“Dean!” She knocked louder. She might as well not be there at all. Waving in front of his line of sight didn’t help. Dean sang on, his expression blissful.

Mary didn’t start to truly panic until the crowbar bounced off the windshield like it was made of rubber. She swung again and again while Dean laughed in an empty car. 

She knew she was already too late. Today was the day she’d been waiting for.

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt: It's not just that Dean won't get rid of the Impala, it's that the Impala won't let him.


End file.
